


Two Truths, One Lie

by squidmemesinc



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Sex, E rating for later chapters, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Tags will be added, magic lube hell yeah lazy author hell yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-03 13:01:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8714953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squidmemesinc/pseuds/squidmemesinc
Summary: You have hardly any firewhiskey left and you are far less smug now that you’ve realized there may have been something to Taako’s claim of magic helping him hold his liquor."Let's play something else," you suggest.“Like what? It’s your turn to pick.”"What about two truths and a lie?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wow my AO3 is dusty as crap. Sorry? Uh, anyway, taz is great. I'm very tired. More chapters to come later I hope?? Because I am thirsty as hell and porn is kind of my M.O.
> 
> P.S. I accidentally stole firewhiskey from HP, sorry, wasn't totally intentional but I am blending flavors of magic AUs

It’s after 9:30 when you knock. Taako opens the door with a “Hey, what’s up?” then casts his eyes around lower for someone about half your height. “No Merle?”

You shrug, grinning, and slide past him into the room. “Nah, I think he’s got a date.”

“ _Really?_ ” He freezes in front of his bed while you stretch out on the floor, settling against the wall.

You snicker. “I don’t think so. He just said he was busy. I saw Killian when I left him, though, so I think he might be getting his ass kicked all night.”

Taako snorts gently and flops down on his bed, then flips himself over. “Well, it’s a’ight. That dude could probably drink me under the table anyway.”

You were in the middle of tugging a very large bottle of firewhiskey you ‘borrowed’ from the kitchen out of your coat before shedding it when you jerk your head up at him, one arm still trapped within the confines of the garment. “What, and you think I couldn’t? Have you _seen_ you? Have you seen _me_?” Have you seen me in comparison to you?”

“Well, now that I really think about it, I can’t remember any specific instance of us standing next to each other in front of a reflective surface where I was—”

“ _Taako_ ,” you implore with a disbelieving smile.

He spins himself upright again in a spindly flourish of limbs, which you think might help to prove your point if he could have seen it. “Listen buster, just because you’ve got the mass doesn’t mean you’ve got the pass, _comprende_? I’ve got _magic_ in my _blood_. Don’t underestimate me.” He winks, quite saucily, and whisks a couple of wine glasses off his nightstand, tossing one to you that you catch.

“Whatever,” you snort, taking care to examine the glass to make it known that you think it’s silly you’re drinking hard alcohol out of such a thing before you pour the liquid in. It swirls and makes the softest crackling as it magically reacts with the air and tiny, magical fires spark within the dark liquid.

“Don’t ‘whatever’ me, mister, you’re the one who put it out there, step the fuck up. Taako’s ready for ya.” He shakes his own glass impatiently. You fill it halfway, peering up at him with a rascally expression as he frowns. “Magnus, I’m serious. Don’t shortchange me, dude, you have at least three quarters of a glass. Keep going.”

You chuckle and fill it just shy of the top. He pulls his glass back and swirls it very gently, and then, through means you suspect are not entirely properties of the beverage, the top ignites like a baked Alaska. You swallow down half your glass, feeling a mighty burn all the way down your throat with a pleasant tingling afterwards. “You’re showing off.”

“You’re damn right.” He takes a swig to rival yours, swallowing down licks of fire and potent alcohol.

 

 

 

An hour later, you have hardly any firewhiskey left and you are far less smug now that you’ve realized there may have been something to Taako’s claim of magic helping him hold his liquor. His cheeks are just lightly flushed and while he doesn’t seem much less drunk than you, though definitely a bit giggly and quite a bit louder, you can just barely hear yourself slurring through this weird tunnel that seems to lead back to yourself. And even though he’s been making you play Fuck-Marry-Kill for the last twenty minutes, you’re still enjoying yourself.

It takes Taako a while to quiet himself down from his most recent bout of giggles. “Okay, okay. The Director, Johan, um…”

“It’s not your turn!” you interrupt quickly.

“Shh, just answer.”

“It’s _my_ turn Taako.”

He flops over, words now muffled by his face in his pillow. You glance up at him from where you’ve glued yourself to the floor and notice his hair falling over his face and off the bed. It doesn’t look tangled. Weird elven magic. “Okay _fine_ , you big beefy baby, go. It’ll give me a chance to come up with a good third one.”

“The Director, Johan, Killian,” you spit out to stop yourself from thinking about his hair anymore.

“Thief! Thief!” He beats his fists against the bed. You grin at the ceiling.

“ _Answer._ You’re the one making me do this. I hate this game. Answer.”

There’s a moment of silence. He flips himself over and ponders the ceiling with you. “Well I would say kill Killian but I don’t think I honestly could—”

“You’d kill Killian?” You really do hate this game. A lot of the people who have come up have been your friends, which is always either weird or sad. You’re not sure if people verging more on the air of ‘coworker’ than ‘friend’ are better or worse.

“Hey man, it’s the nature of the game,” Taako says for about the twelfth time, continuing to fail to reassure you that this practice isn’t flawed in a major way.

“Okay, so?” you prompt, struck nonetheless by the spirit of competition, however it may be that you win at this game.

“I dunno, on the other hand it does seem like the director has lived a good long life.”

You groan and roll over, hand curling absently around one of the bedposts as if this will keep you from spinning too much. It doesn’t. “Taako please can you not do this with every question.”

“Magnus please can you stop whining,” he quips back. You can hear the smug laughter in his voice.

You sit up a little too suddenly, and your hand somehow catches up and grips the bedpost a little higher so you still don’t fall. You catch a glimpse of the firewhiskey again which you swear was not empty before but definitely is now. “Let’s play something else.”

Taako moves his arm from over his eyes to peer at you. “Like what?” By the way, fuck the Director, marry Johan, and kill Killian.”

“Oh no,” you frown, thinking of Killian. “You’d marry Johan?”

“I think I’d bring cheer into his otherwise cheerless life.”

“Good luck, buddy. Let’s play something else.”

“Like what? It’s your turn to pick.” He sits up too, rather smoothly, not swaying very much (at least from your perspective), and scoots over to pat the bed next to him. After a second you climb up, only stretching out when he leans against the footboard and unfurls his legs, letting his feet rest against your side. They’re a little cold, somehow, even though you’re burning up. Somehow, more so when he touches you.

You uncross your legs tentatively and try to relax, then fail to do so when you realize you were asked a question. “Uh, crap, I dunno. Never have I ever?”

“Pass.”

“What? Why?”

“It’s not as fun with two people and I’m sure I’ll lose.”

You grin. “What makes you so sure? I’ve done plenty of shit.”

He smiles a little knowingly. “Because you’re such a good boy.” His tone doesn’t quite veer away from condescending, but somehow you can tell it’s not meant to be obnoxious.

You frown anyway, mostly just to play along. “Well, you’re just a mean drunk. Also you would have no idea until you played with me. I’m sure I’ve done more than you’d give me credit for.”

“I’m still passing.”

You stare at him, feeling contemplative. “Okay, what about two truths and a lie?” You’ve unfurled your arms and are sort of absently pinning his feet against your side, but it feels kind of nice. He doesn’t seem to mind this or your suggestion.

“Fine.” He gives a little shrug and watches you expectantly.

“It’s your turn,” you tell him.

“I don’t know how to play,” he says airily. “You go first.”

“You say three things. Two of them are true and one of them is a lie.”

“Okay, example?”

You roll your eyes and think for a minute. “I love dogs. I used to have a pet turtle. I’ve been drunker than this before.” You pause. “So you have to guess which one is the lie.”

“Well, you are very drunk but I’m gonna go with the turtle being a fakey-fake lie.” He grins, shifting his legs slightly. “My turn, huh?” You nod. He reaches up and pulls at his hair a little, raking his hands through the strands as he thinks, distracting you to the point that you almost miss his two truths and a lie. “I’ve never had escargot. I really like spicy food. I hate salmon.”

You answer almost instantly. “You’ve definitely had escargot.”

“I gave you an easy one.”

Man, you really wish you had some water right now. There’s a pitcher on the table across the room, but you would rather not get up. “I’m allergic to shellfish,” you say, stuck on his food trend. “I’d only ever really lived in one place before meeting you and Merle.” You pause, failing to think of a good lie and regretting listing your two truths first, finding your ruse obvious. “I have not so much as held hands with another person in weeks.” At least it’s sneaky. Your cheeks feel warm.

Taako regards you carefully, still combing through his hair with his freshly painted nails—a sort of vibrant but dark purple. He convinced you to let him do yours as well, which are black. You glance down at your hand in your lap and find you like it kind of a lot. “You’re not allergic to shellfish,” he surmises.

You grin triumphantly, counting this as a win. “I sure am.”

“Oh, well, good to know I guess. So, what now?”

“You keep guessing. Do you really not know how to play?”

“Nah, I’m messing with you.” He waves his hand dismissively and grins. “You must have lived in more than one place.” You shake your head, unsure of what to do with your face. You now feel like smiling is too obvious and regret bringing it up at all. Your smile comes out nervous, which is possibly the worst outcome. Taako looks a bit surprised. “Okay, Studmeister, when were you up to these dirty, nasty hand-holding escapades in the past few weeks, and who with?”

You feel wholly sheepish now. “Nah, the lie is just that it’s been longer than weeks.” Do you really want to get into this, actually? You’re beginning to feel a bit sad, skirting drunkenly around the edges of things you might rather…well, no, you don’t want to forget. But not remembering, not right now, might be nice too. Enjoying the moment with your friend.

“Magnus, my dear, do you want to hold hands?” Taako says, unable to quite rid the goofiness from his expression but sounding a bit sincere and a bit drunker than he has in a few minutes.

You’re even warmer now. This is not how you expected this to go. “That wasn’t a pity play, it’s just what came to mind.” Is that a good enough cover? Do you _want_ to cover it when he just offered to hold hands with you?

“Okay, fine, do you _not_ want to hold hands? Because I could go for summa that right now. You don’t have to make it weird, just scoot over, will ya?” He doesn’t even wait for an answer, but disentangles himself from you foot-wise and rearranges so he can wedge his slight frame in between you and the wall, _very_ cozily, you might add. There’s just a hint of hesitation that you note when he reaches for your hand, but less once he makes contact, and you find yourself opening your fingers to let his tangle in with yours. His palms are warm and dry, whereas yours are just a little tiny bit clammy, but really you are very drunk and very warm and weren’t expecting this at all. Maybe you should have, but you didn’t.

“How drunk are you?” you try to ask casually, though it sounds wrong. Maybe you should go for the water now, even though you now have a better reason not to. Terrifying though it is, his hand feels really nice in your hand, and his shoulder pressing against yours has a good kind of warmth.

“Pretty,” he admits, surprising you a little. “Why.”

“I dunno I guess I just didn’t think you’d start something like this.”

“Mmm,” Taako hums, a bit unreadable. “Well anyway, here’s my two truths and a lie. I’m a cuddly drunk, I hate firewhiskey, and I haven’t so much as held hands with anyone in weeks.” He’s leaning his head against your shoulder now and you get the distinct feeling his eyes are closed. It’s weird to be playing this from this position. The act feels too intimate, and the conversation not enough.

“Do you not like firewhiskey?”

A very loud, obnoxious buzzer noise.

You laugh a little. “You too, then?”

Another buzzer noise. “I’m not a cuddly drunk, I’m a mean drunk, you said it yourself earlier. Am I winning?”

“I think we’re tied. Are you mad about that? Me saying you’re a mean drunk.”

“No, I’m just messing with you. Also I wanted to cheat. The real answer is, yes, me too, then.” You don’t say anything for a moment and he nudges you. “So, go. Tiebreaker round, then we call it a night, I think.”

You dare to try to take a peek at his face to see if his eyes are closed, then find yourself a bit embarrassed when they’re not. He’s looking down at your hands where they’re clasped together on his thigh with his hand pinning yours down. There’s a nice contrast in the colors of your skin, the hues of your painted nails, and the rough thickness of your hands compared to his, which are smooth and soft with long fingers. He catches you looking, of course. It was a bit obvious since he could feel the movement and he catches your eyes with a sharpness you think should not be allowed on anyone who’s consumed any amount of alcohol.

“Waiting on you, my dude.” He taps his thumb over yours.

You take in a breath, heart pounding a little more. You’re so sure he’s onto you by now, and by this point you think he might be on the same page which is thrilling if you’re right and scary if you’re wrong. You can handle rejection, of course, but you don’t know what would happen to your little group, not to mention your work. You’re distracted because after the tap, he starts gently stroking the back of your thumb with his own, and the touch is so gentle it gives you chills. “Fine,” you breathe out. “I’ve never met anyone named Merle Highchurch, I have gotten drunker and maybe therefore stupider than I planned tonight with someone named Taako, and I…really would like to kiss him right now.”

Taako’s thumb doesn’t slow, nor do you hear a very obvious smile in his voice when he speaks, which is quite infuriating. “Oh man, this one’s tough.”

You lean your head back against his desperately, sure he’s just pulling your leg at this point and not trying to be especially malevolent. “Taako…”

“Are you talking to me or Nega-Taako? See, he’s right over there?” He lifts his other hand to point somewhere unimportant in the room, and you grab it, pulling gently and leaning forward to get him to face you. “Nah, I’m just kidding, man.” He’s grinning and you feel relieved.

Your hands do break apart, but only because he quickly wraps them around you and meets you halfway to the goal, giving you courage to do the same. There’s a half second delayed reaction before you realize that your lips are touching his, finally, finally, and the spark of the firewhiskey reignites completely inside you. You’re burning in the best way as you move your mouth against his. He’s pressing intently back against you, slotting your lips between his as you continue to rearrange yourselves. You both have the thought to drop the pretense of chastity quickly and at once because soon your mouths are open and your tongues find each other in a heated clash.

You breathe out a sound of contentedness between the two of you, shifting again to position yourself over him for the simple matter of straightening out your neck. You feel him smile as he licks against the top of your palette, but he slides down under you, legs tangling with yours and knees rising around them. Taako runs his fingers over the sides of your neck, up your jaw, back into the hair behind your ears, tightening gently in it and hugging you down to him as his teeth start to take a place in your engagement. He nips at your lips and tongue and then covers up his marks with a gentle press of his lips to the same spot.

It’s a little strange. You thought it would feel different with him, but it feels the same as before—natural, good, safe. You don’t notice you’re even comparing them at first until he whispers out your name, and for whatever reason you hear it in her voice.

You break away, feeling relieved, forgetting completely as you bury your face in her neck. “Jules…”

And Taako makes a sound of confusion, shifting. “Uh, who?”

You sit up, and below you is lying not your dead wife, but your living friend, who you were quite sure you were ready to crush on until this very moment. There are a lot of things happening, including but not limited to the realization that for a moment you thought she was here, and now she’s not, and now you are beginning to feel very bad. Also, you have just made a mistake by really quite plainly seducing someone else who didn’t deserve to be subject to this kind of mistake and definitely doesn’t know why. And the more you look at him, with who knows what kind of look on your face, the less pleased he looks as well. This is a look you don’t think you’ve very often, or perhaps ever, seen him wear, at least not so much directed at you. Something on the brink of irritation, tinged with something a bit different like hurt.

“Magnus,” he says very seriously.

You regain control of your frozen body and look away as you climb off the bed. “Sorry, I should go.” You search for your coat on the floor and yank it up.

“Hold on just a second, my guy—”

“Goodnight,” you say, your words just barely slipping through the crack in the door before it shuts.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes three weeks to write 3k WHOOPS. Sorry. I'm not one of those hashtag stronk writers anymore, I'm just a dirty casual. I'm not sure if I'll write more for TAZ but just so you know, it's my whole entire life and you guys have been great :) Thanks for the excellent reception. Have some porn as a gift, if that's a thing you're into. New tags!

You put a lot of effort into dodging Taako for two days and feeling very guilty about it, and when you finally slip up and wind up in the same room as him, he looks like he’s experiencing literally none of the awkwardness that you are, which makes you immediately feel very silly.

Silly isn’t the only thing you feel, though. You’re a bit put off to think that you’re the only one being negatively affected by this, which is of course inextricably linked with a bunch of guilty feelings at the core of which are ‘Does he not like me as much as I like him?’ and also ‘Should I even be liking someone else at all?’ You wish you’d never started this, and you think you’ve developed a distaste for firewhiskey and also your apparent need to prove yourself as a tank, drinking-wise. It didn’t even work because you came up in a draw, so you think you might at least swear off of such contests with magical persons in the future, because apparently that matters.

You end up meeting Taako and it’s Merle’s fault, which makes sense because he’s got a thick impenetrable skull and also because Taako literally doesn’t act like it’s weird at all, which just leaves you standing there sweating a little bit and Feeling Things Not Altogether Pleasant. You act as cool as you can which amounts to you kind of standing there and pretending to not pay attention because you suddenly can’t remember how to interact with Taako normally, which somehow feels like an oxymoron. You were expecting some kind of confrontation, at the very least a weird look, and this kind of aloof coolness has left you unable to move past whatever stage of weirdness you’re in. This strikes you as a little unfair.

Merle punches you in the thigh when you don’t react to them asking if you’re up for some lunch, which leads to you jumping a little and faking not being hungry. Taako just shrugs and heads off with Merle, which is way too normal and perplexingly upsetting. You sulk in your room until evening doing a very bad job on a couple of really small wooden figurines. You don’t even know what you’re trying to make, but it’s not working, and you end up with a bunch of baubles of half-carved wood.

You keep giving up and trying to sleep but are unable to do anything except think about two specific times you fucked up. Once, very recently, and another time less so.

Up until a few days ago, everything that happened with Julia bothered you less than it used to. You’ve made your peace with it, honestly, and you know what’s messing you up now is that you feel like you’ve moved on and you don’t want to. But you do, also. These emotions are wholly unnecessary, and actually really exhausting. You eventually do pass into a very restless sleep.

 

 

 

A knock at your door wakes you up, causing you to jerk your head up and realize the horrible kink in your neck from wedging your bicep at a bad angle under it. Your eyes are pinched shut in pain when you hear the door open, and you groggily crack your neck and sit up. Rubbing your eyes to clear them of foggy sleepiness reveals a prominent subject of your recent dreams.

Taako makes a show of holding up his hands as if to show he’s unarmed, and then says, “I come in peace, seriously.” You’re staring, so he stops walking and crosses his arms, finally beginning to look a little defensive. “Do you want me to leave? I def have other shit to do than check on your mopey ass if that’s the case.”

“I’m not moping,” is your instinctive lie, accompanied by what’s likely an unpleasant frown, though  more an irate than sad one, you think.

“Okay, cool, I guess? If this isn’t moping then maybe you should start or whatever. Like, we have a job and junk to do and if you’ve got drama issues with me then let me fuckin have it, but I won’t stand for this dodgy shit, aight?” He sits in the chair across from your bed. “This isn’t a metaphor,” he tacks on a tad unconvincingly, noticing the convenient alignment of his words and actions. You fail to respond, still trying to process his presence. “Anyway, hey, it’s your turn to say a thing now.”

You’re a little angry now, the way he’s coming in here and expecting you to be okay just because he is. But you suppose it’s having a good effect, because you don’t feel very much like being awkward now. You rub your eyes again, this time with the intention of fending off an irritable response, and sigh.

Taako picks up on your unwillingness to answer. “Alright, well, progress I guess. Look, Magnus—”

“Taako, what do you want?” You can’t quite keep the bite of your rising frustration back, which detracts from the sincere nature of your question.

He’s quiet for a bit, giving you an unreadable expression with his arms crossed over his chest. “I’m trying to get a feel for where I stand with you, I guess,” he says evenly. The answer throws you, past the allotted time he gives you to answer. You notice his posturing looks a bit tense and closed off as he crosses his arms, the slender fingers clenched over one bicep sporting chipped purple polish. “Look. I don’t get close to people, usually by design. But I get it…if—” He cuts himself off, frustrated, glowing a little indignantly around the cheeks, clears his throat softly and refuses to finish, because as he’s said several times, it’s your turn to step up.

And… Oh. You’re getting it now. It’s weird how the abrupt resurgence of your past combined with a bit of alcohol seemed to immediately distort your perception of what happened, and then plus a long and nasty hangover, you’ve imagined his reaction to be a lot different than what it was. You’re vaguely remembering it now, saying her name, then pretty abruptly leaving before he even had a chance to get mad or react. You have actually been focusing so much on the emotions the events brought up about your past that you forgot to consider the actual event that was being retroactively tainted by your emotions. You can’t remember the tone he used when he noticed your mistake, and as much as you’d like to ask him to recall it for you now, you feel like the point would be a little moot because he’s here, making it apparent that all the shit that’s been plaguing you has been a result of your own actions, and maybe you’ve been a bit of a dillweed. “Fuck,” you say, wincing obviously.

“I’m good, thanks.”

You shoot him a sharp look not completely devoid of humor, because he did get you. “You wanted to talk…” you say as if it’s a question, because it sort of is.

“I don’t know how accurate it is to say I _wanted_ to, but I would have.”

You look down at your hands, then slowly clench them closed. “I guess I haven’t really said anything about it. I dunno, it was a long time ago and—”

“Hang on, you definitely missed the boat for that. I am ninety-seven percent sober right now and that dog ain’t gonna hunt.”

You stare at him and then pick up on the way he starts subtly smiling. “Do you want to come up here?”

“Last time I did I ended up making out with someone and he said someone else’s name and it was kind of weird, I dunno.” He’s smiling more obviously now, and you stare at him until he gets off the stupid chair and crosses the few steps in the room. “Okay, but really, where are we on the whole ‘making out’ thing?”

“Conflicted,” you say, and pat the bed impatiently.

He rolls his eyes and climbs onto it, folding himself up on top of your comforter. You lean against the wall and then start talking, and you talk for a while, and it gets easier, and eventually you run out of things to say without him having said anything. You’re sitting a fair distance away from each other, and the space between you feels palpably cold. You didn’t think you’d feel that much different after admitting all that, but strangely you feel like a lot of the tension you’d been holding dissipated into the air with your words.

“But I like you,” you tack on after a noticeable beat, realizing you feel allowed to say that.

He snorts. “‘Kay.”

You whip your head to the side to look at him. “Uh, sorry, I kind of just _bore_ my _soul_ to you and your response is just ‘‘ _Kay’?_ ” You kick at his legs a little harder than you mean to, and he kicks you back reflexively. You grab his leg and give it a tug so his back slips from where it’s resting against the wall and he falls onto the bed, and you take the opportunity to pin him, wanting him to give you an answer you can be sure is real, for once. You want to see it in his face.

“What, so it’s my turn?” He’s trying very hard to suppress a smirk.

“Yeah, actually, it is,” you say.

“Like this? You’re just gonna hold me here until I unload all my baggage on your doorstep?”

“I guess I am.”

“Huh. You know, I had a response for your stupid afterthought to your whole life story of _liking_ me—by the way, are you five? I legitimately have no idea how humans age—but it didn’t seem fair, and now I’m regretting being so nice to you.” He is no longer suppressing his smirk at all.

Your turning over your options as quickly as you can. It was cathartic to talk about, even with no response, and you’re still apprehensive, but at least this time nothing can sneak up on you. “Was it a better answer than ‘‘Kay’?” you dare to ask, knowing what the response will be, and, testing your own willingness, finding some give.

He shrugs dismissively. “You could tell me.” He reaches up and curls a hand around your neck, splaying his fingers across your broad back, and props himself up to kiss you. And it’s just as good, if not better than you remembered—both from him and just in general. And despite what he said, he kindly pulls back to give you a chance to consider. He flattens his lips into a line and quirks them. “Sorry, but you still haven’t unlocked my secret backstory.” And he does look the tiniest bit apologetic.

You sit up, wondering if it’ll help clear your head. Taako follows, his knee now touching your thigh gently. “I wasn’t really going to make you,” you tell him.

“Nah, I mean, it’s fair, but I wouldn’t want to freak you out if there was still a chance we could fuck.” He shrugs.

You manage not to choke on your own breath and recover with a quip of your own. “You think you could do one better than an entire town, including my wife and step-father?” It hurts a little to say, even if you’re going with his joke, but there just seems to be a lot of bluntness going around.

“Maybe not in sheer numbers, but hey, let’s not get into it. In fact, you literally can’t. I told you, that box is locked. This box—” (he vogues his hands around his face smoothly and makes a sultry expression) “—is not.” He drops his hands. “No pressure though, you know me. I mean like, I won’t hate you, I’ll just tell everyone you have a small dick and make a mean drawing and post it all over the place.” He waits a single beat. “I’m really joking, I’m pretty sure.”

You grab him and pull him towards you. “Either way, I’m not risking it.” And you kiss him again, slow and deep at first. He grins against your lips, then slowly melts into your requited passion, shifting to kneel around you and link his arms around and under yours. He fits himself against you easily and you feel yourself heating up more quickly than you’d like to admit, but he doesn’t seem to mind. His hands are as sneaky as his tongue as they slip around your clothes, subtly sliding lower across your chest, then lower still. You find yourself shifting back to accommodate his subtle groping. You kind of get the sense he’s sizing you up a little, especially after his ambiguously sincere comments, and you’re tempted to call him on it because honestly, he can be your guest.

You get a little adventurous yourself, thumbing one handed over the loose buttons of his flowing shirt, which pop open easily to mirror his eagerness. With his chest and throat exposed, you move your mouth down from his and close it over the skin of his neck, soft and unmarked, and give it some pressure. You’ve both admitted it’s been a while, and you feel a bit exhilarated to be able to see how readily his skin becomes your canvas. The answer is very, and he hums, pleased, bruises visibly, and shoves his hands abruptly down between your bodies, slipping his fingers into your pants.

A sharp breath rips through your lungs and you squeeze your body, rising into his hand and mouthing something encouraging against his collarbone. His fingers sneak lower and lower to get an idea of you, palm and fingers circled around your cock. “ _Thank you_ , any and all gods, _very_ sincerely, Taako,” he murmurs, giving you a few firm pulls that only excite you more.

“Yeah, you’re welcome, don’t spread any goddamn lies,” you grin, tugging your hand down the remaining buttons off his shirt which separate so easily you suspect magical influence. He shrugs out of it so it pools around his wrist, which he seems unwilling to detach from your hot prick, not that you especially mind. He uses his other hand to pull at your clothes and push at you so you’re forced to lie back even though you want to keep kissing him.

“Yeah, no chance of that,” Taako grins. He looks a little breathless when you finally break away, a little more disheveled than you’re used to seeing him, at least outside of a fight. It’s a bit sexier now that he looks like he probably won’t die from being hit by a particularly strong wind. He seems to reluctantly and hurriedly rip his hand away to fling out his sleeve and strip off his pants, in the midst of which you try to shuffle out of some of your own clothes from underneath him and are only moderately successfully. He hardly gives you any time before he presses himself down between your legs with a hand squeezing your cocks together, slick now and impossible to deny that something arcane is occurring.

“You’re showing off again,” you joke as coolly as you can to keep from rutting so hard against him that you both catch fire.

“I’m impatient,” he corrects, fucking himself roughly against your dick. “And also insatiable,” he says a second later, heaving himself up again and gripping your dick to hold it under himself.

You do choke this time. “Are you fucking—” ‘Serious’ is what you meant to say, but he slams himself down to the hilt and starts moving immediately and it comes out as a loud groan instead. Not to mention you almost come right there from the hot, sweet obscenity of it.

“I am now, baby, _ooh_ ,” Taako breathes back, rocking on top of you and pulsing around you. You groan loudly, again, squeezing his hips despite your reluctance to mess him up in a bad way.

“Holy shit, doesn’t that hurt?” You’re still a little baffled by his recklessness, but he’s so tight and warm and you’re dying of pleasant friction and pressure as you buck back up into him, that it’s hard not to just take his enthusiasm at face value.

“It feels fucking _great_ , god just tear me apart, see if I care.” He throws his head back and pumps his own cock while he rides you, then rolls it around onto his shoulder and bites his lip. “God _damn_ , _fuck_ ,” he swears, spattering your stomach with bits of precum as his hand moves. You’re glad he’s getting off on this as much as you are, leaking excess lubrication into him and making it even easier to do this, although at the same time you have a hard time believe that’s even possible, because you weren’t expecting any of this.

You have to break the pattern or this isn’t going to last as long as you want it to, so you grab him around the waist and flip him over, pinning him a second time and this time hiking his hips up so you can thrust back into him, moving your own a bit slower than he was and definitely more to your control. Taako moans and closes his eyes in a picturesque moment you’re sure will feature heavily in your dreams for the weeks to come. You grind down into him and hold yourself over him just barely so you can kiss him again, over his cheek and his neck, settling on his mouth when he grabs onto your hair and pulls you to him fiercely. You’re pleased to feel his legs shaking just slightly as they’re curled around your back, and you fuck him hard so chipped purple fingernails graze along your back, leaving soft stinging welts.

His hand still works between your bodies, where your stomach is starting to feel slick from what you imagine is a mixture of magical and natural fluids alike. You work a hand under his back to get a better angle and thrust deep into him a few times, making him choke around your lips when you find the perfect spot. He gets out what could be half a syllable of your name when he comes. You’re not able or wanting to hold out through the aftershocks that cause him to squeeze around you and have the most satisfying release you have in a long time.

You slow down gradually for both your sakes, pull out, and move to the side just enough so that when you drop down you don’t crush him. You leave your arm thrown over his chest, and he seems to sort of hug it as he pants. You’re both quiet for a while except for the sound of heavy breathing, and then Taako says, “Well now I’m definitely not telling you… For plain ol’ like, you know, vanilla sex, that was really good.”

You pinch his exposed nipple mercilessly for the backhanded compliment and he swats at you, which starts a small slapping fight that both of you are too tired for and thus quickly ends. “You bastard,” you mumble at him with a smile, hugging him closer once his arms stop trying to push you away.

“But seriously, I can teach you things. Good things, my man.”

“I am _not_ vanilla and I _will_ pinch you again.” His hair smells nice, and it’s still soft even when a little sweaty.

There’s a beat where you almost fall asleep, which he breaks because he of course won’t. “You’re good, right?”

Maybe by some measure held high in the opinion of someone else, you shouldn’t be, and maybe it'll creep up on you later, but for now you are in fact good, and that’s what you say as you tug him closer to your chest.


End file.
